Justice & Law Quote by Andy Summers

Restlessness is the engine here, not nostalgia. Andy Summers isn’t daydreaming about “the good old days” of The Police; he’s describing a working method that sounds less like inspiration and more like triage: four or five records spinning in his head at once, competing for attention, each one a possible exit route from routine. That multiplicity matters because it quietly rebukes the way we freeze legacy artists in amber. Summers is saying: the catalog isn’t a museum, it’s a pipeline.

The “guitar trio record” isn’t just a format choice, it’s a declaration of values. A trio puts the guitar back under fluorescent light: exposed, accountable, unable to hide behind arrangement density. It also signals a move toward conversation rather than production - three voices negotiating space in real time, a structure associated with jazz and improvisation as much as rock. For a guitarist whose most famous work is interlocked with Sting’s bass lines and Stewart Copeland’s polyrhythms, it’s a way of revisiting that kind of friction without reenacting the band.

Then comes the revealing pivot: “since The Police I’ve mostly made records with keyboards.” That’s less a confession than a clue about how he’s managed his post-Police identity. Keyboards imply harmony beds, studio architecture, the composer’s bird’s-eye view. Wanting a guitar trio now reads like a corrective - a return to the tactile, percussive, imperfect thing that made Summers distinctive in the first place: texture, sting, and space.